


The One with All the Hummus

by mugglegirl



Series: Five times Ian Asks Mickey out, One Time He Doesn't [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, M/M, idek what this is tbh, mickey being cute with yev 100 percent guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglegirl/pseuds/mugglegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“but… this is a date.”<br/>“No, it’s not. We’re just having lunch.”<br/>“No, this is a date. I asked you out.”<br/>“This isn’t a fucking date, Gallagher.”<br/>“It feels like a date though, Mickey.”<br/>“It’s not.”<br/>“Yeah, I’m positive this is a date.”<br/>"For fucks sake..."</p><p>cuteness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with All the Hummus

**Author's Note:**

> you should probably read the 2 parts before this because then it'll be more fun.  
> its 6 am & this is very unbeta'd i'm so sorry

That night, right as Mickey begins to fall asleep, his phone beeps next to his head and jolts him awake. The text is from Ian, but the name programed into his phone is just a smiling poop emoji.

It had helped with the conflicting feelings he’d had when he added Ian’s number, okay?

_Lunch was fun. We should have dinner next time._

Mickey sighs, drops the phone and then his head into the pillow. Lunch had been weird, to say the least.

* * *

After their heated make out session at the shop, Ian suggests going to lunch but Mickey mumbles something about paperwork he needs to finish in a weak attempt to buy some time before giving an answer.

“Okay,” Ian shrugs, “I’ll wait. Is it going to take long?”

Mickey pushes himself off the countertop in frustration. He can still feel where Ian’s fingers had dug into his waste when he hauled him onto that retched counter.

“The fuck should I know,” he grumbles, then adds, “If you wanna wait, you can, I guess.”

 _Lunch with Ian_ , he thinks as he walks away. It’s frankly unsettling how okay he is with the prospect.

“You wanna go to fucking Starbucks again?” Mickey asks as he makes his way back to the front of the store. He has to adjust his pants.

“Uh, we don’t have to,” Ian answers, following closely behind, “Maya said something about a Lebanese restaurant close by?”

“ _Fucking Maya_ ,” Mickey mumbles under his breath. Of course she would tell Ian about Mickey’s favorite place to eat.

When he reaches the desk, he opens the first drawer with more force then he intended. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for but has no doubt that he’ll find something he’s been putting off if he looks.

Meanwhile, Ian circles around and takes a seat on the stool meant for customers. Mickey glances up at him briefly and finds Ian with his chin in his palm, looking back with a small grin on his face. Mickey frowns.

It takes less than thirty seconds to find an uncompleted file at the bottom of the drawer. He grabs one of the customer pens from the cup next to Ian and begins to scribble the information.

“You do a surprising amount of work for a florist,” Ian remarks.

Mickey nods, “I do all the paperwork. Tyler doesn’t let me near the flowers.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind.”

Mickey sighs, drops the pen and looks up sharply, “Do you want me to finish this so we can go eat or what?”

* * *

It only takes about ten minutes to fill in the file and by the time Mickey is done, all he can think about is the hummus he could be eating, so he cuts the bullshit.

“Alright, let’s go.”

As they walk down the street, Ian talks nonstop, as usual and Mickey is quiet, as usual. He can’t find the right words- feels inadequate. Ian speaks with the enthusiasm of a six year old about everything- Mickey has never felt that way about anything. Nothing he says will be as interesting as Ian, so he keeps his mouth shut.

By the time they make it to the restaurant, Ian has explained how he went to the Chicago community college and finished his bachelor’s degree in two years. He jokes about how he got an office job at an accounting firm but still can’t multiply anything over ten.

“I don’t think I’ve left the house without a calculator on me since I got the job,” he remarks.

Mickey scoffs at that, “Got a calculator on you right now?”

Ian nods, shoves his hand into his army jacket pocket and pulls out a fucking _graphing calculator._

Mickey can’t help but laugh out loud at that. He shakes his head and looks down briefly when he can’t stop smiling. It’s the first time he’s made a sound that isn’t a grunt since they left the shop and Ian doesn’t miss it. He smiles back brightly before putting the calculator back in his pocket. He definitely has a spring in his step now.

As soon as they walk into the restaurant, Mickey heads for a corner booth. It’s a little cramped but he feels safer there, like it’s less obvious. Ian doesn’t say anything.

Mickey orders two plates of hummus for himself and watches Ian struggle to understand what the menu says before sighing and ordering a hummus and taboola salad for him.

Ian looks at him, surprise evident and eyebrows raised, “You know your stuff,” he says, delightful.

“Yeah, well, I don’t fuck around with food,” he mutters, cheeks heating.

Ian laughs, “Well, what _do_ you fuck with, then?”

Mickey’s smile falters immediately and there is a momentary silence before Ian’s grin drops too and he flails, “No, fuck, I mean- what do you do? Other than… flowers,” he finishes lamely.

Mickey tilts his head; intrigued and quite frankly impressed by how quickly Ian can go from smooth and sexy to blubbering mess.

“I run a business,” he tries. He hopes Ian won’t ask more but knows if the stories he has told him about his life so far are true, a pimping business shouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Mickey’s just not used to telling people.

He’s not used to telling people anything, really. Mickey’s not used to _people,_ period.

“A business?” Ian asks, eyebrow rising in disbelief, “You run a business _and_ work at a flower shop?”

Mickey lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up to massage the back of neck.

“It’s a… hospitality,” he winces. Ian lets out a surprised laugh.

“You’re a pimp?” he asks, slapping the table in excitement, “How the hell did that happen?”

Mickey gawks at Ian as he falls into a fit of laughter.

“ _How did that happen?_ What, you think I can’t be a pimp?” he accuses.

“No, I don’t think you can be a pimp,” Ian tells him, clutching his chest as he catches his breath, “You’re, like, five-six and the whitest boy I’ve ever met. You work at a _flower shop_ , for crying out loud! You’re too cute to be a pimp.”

Mickey groans, “You have got to be kidding me…” he begins, “You don’t even know me!”

“I clearly don’t,” Ian agrees, still grinning, “tell me about yourself, then.”

Mickey frowns at him, annoyed that he’s not being taken seriously.

“Fine,” he says, sitting up in his chair and leaning forward, “well, for starters, I’m married to a whore.”

And when Ian’s eyes go wide, “I mean that literally.”

“I got her pregnant when I was 17,” he continues “that was three years ago. I married her. Her pimp was a bitch so I got her and the rest of the Russian whores she worked with to quit, and started my own business at the Alibi. You remember the Alibi, dontcha?” Ian nods, eye’s wide.

Mickey can’t help but grin, “Didn’t really make much money at first but it came in handy when my dad was in jail. The flower shop job was mandatory after juvi, but it pays well so…”

When he’s done, Ian is no longer smiling and Mickey can’t help but feel triumphant.

“And I’m five-seven,” Mickey adds as an afterthought.

When Ian finally speaks, he says, “I think that’s the longest you’ve ever talked. That is definitely the longest _I’ve_ ever heard you talk.”

Mickey groans, “That’s all you got to say?”

“No,” Ian says, “tell me about this wife and son of yours that Maya so conveniently left out when she told me about you.”

“Maya told you-? Never mind. There isn’t anything to tell.”

It had been so long, Mickey had forgotten that most people don’t have a wife and kid before the age of twenty.

“Listen,” Mickey starts, “I told you already, I’m not doing… the dating thing. So you don’t have to worry.”

“The dating thing?” Ian asks, “but… this is a date.”

“No, it’s not. We’re just having lunch.”

“No, this is a date. I asked you out.”

“This isn’t a fucking date, Gallagher.”

“It feels like a date though, Mickey.”

“It’s not.”

“Yeah, I’m positive this is a date.”

“For fucks sake,” Mickey groans just as the waiter shows up with the food. Thankfully, the hummus distracts them both.

Half an hour later, Mickey has spoken a lot more than he planned to- mostly in the form of answering Ian’s questions in some game of How Much Can I Get Out of Him While He Unceremoniously Shoves Hummus Into His Mouth. As it turns out, a surprising amount. 

* * *

When the bill comes, Mickey pays. He feel’s like he has something to prove, but it doesn’t really have the desired effect.

“Whatcha doing now?” Ian asks as they step outside.

Mickey shrugs as he pulls on his jacket, “Going home, I guess.”

He pulls out a cigarette when Ian doesn’t answer right away, mostly to have something to do with his hands. He feels weirdly jittery.

“Want one?” he asks as he lights his.

“Uh, no, I quit a few years ago.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Well uh, anyway,” Ian starts, shoves his hands into his coat pockets and shifts from foot to foot, “I’m going to a bar over on Boyz Street later tonight… If you wanted to come.”

Mickey exhales slowly, eyebrows raised, “A gay bar?”

“Well, it _is_ Boyz Street…”

“Yeah,” Mickey huffs- tries to sound nonchalant, “I’ll pass.”

“Okay, it’s cool,” Ian tells him, nodding his head a few times as he glances around them, “real cool. Okay, well-”

“What are you so nervous for all of a sudden?” Mickey asks.

“What? I’m not- I’m not nervous,” Ian says, but he sounds unsure of himself.

Mickey sighs, drops the cigarette on the floor and steps on it, “Look, fuck, okay, give me your phone,” he says, hand extended.

Ian obliges.

“This is not an invitation to call me whenever the hell you want,” he tells him as he taps the screen, “just… text me. But don’t- don’t be fucking annoying.”

Ian’s smile is toxic.

* * *

When Mickey gets home, Svetlana is balancing a crying Yevgeny on one hip and a laundry basket on the other.

As soon as the door slams behind him, Svetlana turns to Mickey with pleading eyes.

“Oh thank God, will you shower Yev?” she asks, already walking towards Mickey as she untangles her son from her arms.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, shrugs off his jacket and takes Yev off Svetlana. The second he’s on him, Yev’s crying deteriorates to sniffling.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as he rocks him gently, “why’s he crying?” he asks quietly.

Svetlana sighs and shrugs her shoulders, “He wants food, he wants poop, he wants dad, he _doesn’t_ wan't shower.”

“What!” Mickey exclaims, looking down at Yev with faux surprise, “you don’t want to shower?”

Yev giggles, “No showers.”

“But you stink!” Mickey tells him, “Oof!” he holds Yev away from his body and shakes his head exaggeratedly.

Yev laughs out loud this time, “No dada! I don’t stink!”

“Well, someone told me if you shower today you can come with dad to work tomorrow…” he teases.

At that prospect, Yev’s eye’s light up with excitement and he begins to nod his head enthusiastically.

The truth is, Mickey is stuck with Yevgeny whether he likes it or not because Svetlana would be out all day doing job interviews. She had quit hooking a year after Yevgeny was born and although they were scraping by fine, extra cash wouldn’t hurt.

“I guess… I’ll shower,” Yev tells him, shrugging as if nonchalant.

“Well then, go on, get your ass up to the bathroom and I’ll be there in a minute,” Mickey says as he puts Yev down.

Svetlana looks at him from where she stands a few feet away, one eyebrow raised slightly.

“You’re in a good mood today,” she says.

“Got off work early.”

“No you didn’t,” Svetlana says.

“Uh… yeah I did,” Mickey counters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s three,” she tells him, pointing at the clock on the yellowing wall, “you always come home at three.”

“Oh.”

“Was it the boy?”

“What? What boy?” Mickey asks, taking a step back in shock. _Is there anything Svetlana doesn’t know?_

“Maya told me,” she says in a bored tone, “it’s good, maybe if you get laid every once in a while, you’ll stop being so grouchy all the time.”

“Why are you talking to Maya? I didn’t even know you knew her…” Mickey groans. He’s not surprised Maya can’t keep her mouth shut, but he hadn’t realized how deep she’d managed to dig herself into his personal life. 

“There is a lot you don’t know about me,” Svetlana says, “plus, the girls in your life have to stick together, do we not?”

* * *

Mickey picks his phone up one last time before going to sleep to stares at the text.

Finally, he lets out a tired sigh and types out: “OK”

He hits send before he has time to think about it. 

Ian fucking Gallagher and the way he makes Mickey think is going to be the epitaph on Mickey's grave.

 

**Author's Note:**

> seriously my only motivation to write comes from your comments so tell me if you want more!!
> 
> *Netflix voice* If you liked this, then you may also enjoy...  
> [the other ficlets I have on my tumblr](http://rnashallah.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (whats a netflix voice???)


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